Sneak Peek
Chapter 9 – Christine
(c) 2021 Liz Gavin
The script states that the hot-as-sin front man of Muse of Darkness has his heart set on serenading a slutty groupie out of her panties. I believe in following scripts. Apparently, so does wardrobe.
The costume design team excelled in making me look the part. Whistles fill the air when I wriggle out of the terrycloth robe I have on, revealing a bright-yellow bikini top, and minuscule cutoffs. I fold the robe, hand it to an assistant standing to my right, and sit on my heels at the spot by the bed that the director blocked earlier.
Excited whispers hum around the cavernous movie set in waves. Goosebumps raise the hair on my body, head to toes. Nothing to do with the chilling temperature set by the powerful air conditioner system. The sensations result from a crackling power that fills the space around me. It tugs at my core, enveloping me like a cashmere wrap in a wintry night, before zinging through my muscles.
“Hold up! I’ll show Mr. Major Flop here how this should be done.”
When I whirl to face the origin point of that scornful remark, the studio lights blur my vision, but I’d never mistake that timbre for anyone else’s.
Erik Crawford is here.
I should’ve known it was him, when the first wave of eerie electricity traveled through my body. That’s his signature, the jolt of energy I feel every time he’s near.
My throat dries up, my brain checks out. My resolution to wrap up the scene and forget Erik flies out of the windowless studio at the sight of the man. I don’t know enough mantras to restore my balance right now. Still, I fill my lungs with air, and embrace for impact. Although, a long-haul airliner nose diving toward the ground would cause less damage than my current situation.
Deja vu much? The same sensations that overwhelmed me the other day, when he came to me under the tree, threaten to pull me under. I want to show him I’ve over the physical attraction after he trampled on my heart in his trailer. Instead, I gawk as he ambles through the set. A gorgeous feline on the prowl comes to mind.
Erik is just as dangerous. I should keep this in mind.
But, when he takes Pat Robertson’s spot on the bed in front of me, the world hushes. Everything becomes white noise, except for the man who checks all the boxes under my ‘sexy rock star’ list. And that honor is not without plenty of reasons.
Ripped torso and legs perpetually sheathed in black leather? Check.
High cheekbones and a square jaw? Check and check.
I shake my head once to dismiss the X-rated scenes invading my mind and squeeze my eyes shut for a beat recalling the diretor’s words during rehearsals.
As scripted, I lean back on my forearms and gape. No acting required here.
He’s got his famous leather pants and jacket on. The dark ensemble makes for a perfect combination with his inky hair that falls in waves across a broad forehead. The tips of my fingers tingle at the memory of the silky touch of his curls when we kissed yesterday.
His sun-kissed fingers thrum the guitar straddling his rippling thigh as he plays my favorite workout song, the one he’s tutored me endless times over the past week.
Limelight glow, leather shine
All a show I put out so fine
Everyone fooled, all but me
With deep inhales, and long exhales, I try to ignore the sizzling under my skin. Epic failure. Mesmerized, I scan his expression. He rocks the heck out of his bone structure as it frames his fleshy nose over full lips made for endless nights of sinful pleasure. As I sit at his feet, I curl my fingers into fists, resting them on the floor by my hips. They itch to trace that face that has dominated my fantasies for so long.
Deep-set, chocolate eyes zero in on me, hypnotizing me. His intent stare soothes, entices, and addles my synapses. With this hazardous combination, my heartbeats spike, blood zings through my veins, making me dizzy. I had promised myself I’d resist this power over me that he has. Who was I kidding? His lyrics call to my soul on a primitive level. His melody vibrates through my muscles. He seduces my senses with ease, arousing my body with the expertise of a virtuoso playing his instrument.
They cheer as I sing
Lilting notes mask pain too deep
Yet my heart knows, my soul weeps
His voice flows through me, setting an alluring tempo. I swing back and forth without meaning to, eyes glued to his frame. My flesh strums to his tune, heart hammers my chest. Like a caged bird, it flaps about as if trying to break free, and fly to nestle in Erik’s hands.
His music has always had this effect on me. It erases my worries, fears, and shortcomings. It sets me free. It takes me to higher planes where I can be whoever I want to be.
When the melody swells, he closes his eyes, and sways to the rhythm. He transmutes singing into a full-body experience. A brawny one at that.
I shut my eyes as the haunting ballad stirs my imagination. Behind my closed eyelids, Erik guides me through dark tunnels. He whispers into my ear, inviting me to give in to my darkest desires. I grip his outstretched hand, follow his tall frame until we reach the steep margin of an underground pond. Mists swirl above its black surface, enticing and mysterious.
That’s insane, I give myself a mental scolding, popping my eyes open.
Erik glides his baritone up into the tenor register like a swan on a placid lake.
This sinner can’t be saved
Outcast, shunned, and depraved
In the darkness I’ve embraced
I’ve found purpose and solace
He climbs to impossible high notes, then cascades back, vocalizing into a visceral undertone. Dimples hollow his cheeks under stylish scruff, and my heart shudders. I fight a sudden lack of self-control as my lower body tingles, repeating the pattern of the last notes of the song. I rein in the scattered sensations. I’ve worked so hard to get this one scene in the biopic. I won’t blow it now. With a sigh, I mentally kick myself to jumpstart my numb brain.
As blocked during rehearsal, I lean forward, kneeling between his legs. I splay my fingers on his knees, inching my palms toward his crotch.
Pausing for a heartbeat, I focus my stare on his nose. The swarm of butterflies in my stomach scoop and soar. They’d keel me over if I focused on his eyes.
In a steady voice, which doesn’t reflect the chaos inside, I deliver my one-line. “It should be illegal for a man as breathtaking as you to sing like an angel.”
When I utter the last word, I do a little inner happy dance. After all, despite my dazzled mind, I did it. I finished the damn scene with the original singer of Muse of Darkness, nonetheless. Who’s cool as a cucumber now? Yes, that would be me, the queen of badass.
With the confidence the thought imbues me, and expecting the director to shut down this departure from his schedule soon, I get adventurous. I snap my head up, jut my chin out, and arch my eyebrow at Mr. Erik Crawford.
Big mistake. I won’t back down now, though. I hold his stare, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat.
Shit.
Predatory intentions ooze out every pore of his body, short-circuiting my brain cells, scorching my skin, and electrifying my muscles.
He whispers under his breath for my ears only, “Yesterday, you thought you could escape me? Think again.”
His tongue glides over his lower lip, attracting my gaze like a moth to a flame. I can’t look away as my heart beats in my ears. Black spots fog my vision, and I chew at the inside of my mouth to avoid doing something stupid in front of the whole movie crew.
He exudes self-control, but a telltale muscle ticks on his jaw. He leans forward until his uneven breathing fans my cheeks. Panicking, I dart my eyes to where the second unit director stands, on the other side of the bed. I frown at him begging for his orders for us to move on to the actual shooting with the hired actor for the damn scene. Jim never hollers any commands to his crew.
Yet high-pitched screams pierce everyone’s ears, when Erik hoists a shrieking me onto his lap, crushes me against his heaving chest, and blasts the script into oblivion.
